Tears On The Jukebox
by PrsctrTails
Summary: Damon has spent a sad lifetime trying to find her, Katherine has spent a nervous lifetime trying to stay one step ahead of him. So, what happens when they collide? Datherine AU fic. M for content Reviews and feedback would be greatly and much appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

_Nashville, Tennessee, 1976_

To call the bar a 'Hole in the Wall' would have been too much a compliment. It smelled of, in no particular order, alcohol, vomit, sweat and sadness. All in all, it was a pretty brutal place to spend a Saturday night.

She looked around with a smirk. This fangled Countrypolitan fashion/music fad was greatly to her liking. Everyone was in tight jeans, stylishly cut plaid and flannel shirts, and Cowboy boots and hats that looked fit for a runway as opposed to a rodeo. And the music wasn't all that bad. Sure, all the songs were still about heartbreak and booze, but at least they were upbeat sounding. She really hadn't cared for the more depressing, 1950s era stuff, but she sort of liked this.

Taking a sip of her Bourbon, her eyes drifted to the slumped over and completely passed out figure at the other end of the bar. Even as a sloppy, drunken mess he was still gorgeous. For all the world, she wanted to go over, wake him up and talk to him. But, well, that wouldn't end well. Not for anyone.

All Katherine could do was sigh. The space of the wooden bar counter suddenly the longest distance in the world. That was proof of how badly this whole thing had been handled on her part. Damon Salvatore, the sweet, innocent and polite young man that she had utterly destroyed. Sure, it was over a hundred years later, his hair was different and he dressed to blend in, but, well he just looked broken.

To sum it up, the world was writing songs of love but not for him. It actually made her feel. And feel bad. That was rare. Maybe it was because even she, in her near infinite sociopathy, could recognize that she had possibly permamently damaged something beautiful.

He was the oldest. That had led her to believe he'd get over her. How wrong she had been. Katherine rubbed the bridge of her nose as she pulled her Cowboy hat down some. Looking at him, it was evident that happiness was completely gone from his life. She wasn't even aware it was possible for a Vampire to drink himself out cold, but well, he had done it. That was impressive, but not for anything or reasons good.

Damon stirred slightly in his seat, but it was just him twitching in his sleep. Katherine recalled that was something he had done even in his human days. It was just as adorable as it was back then.

She sniffed the air slightly, focusing on him. He still smelled sweet. He didn't smell of the rank bar, but instead of Virginia. Of cotton and roses.

The worst part of it all, besides not even being able to strut over in her tight denim shortskirt and drawl out a lust-filled "Howdy", was the fact that she knew when he woke up, he'd long for her. Damon lived in a terrible cycle. Booze, loneliness, death, longing, repeat. This wasn't what she had in mind for him when she had turned him. He'd been filled with such potential, so many gifts. The very world and all its light and treasures could, and should, have been his.

And now?

He was passed out drunk in a bar in Tennessee.

And all she could do was sit and watch him stumble farther down his self-destructive hole. The hole she had pushed him into.

She couldn't take it anymore. Rising from her stool, Katherine slowly slinked over and plucked his Cowboy hat from the dirty floor and placed hit softly on his head. He looked so...young. After all this time, his youth refused to abandon him. At least that brought a smile to her face.

Before she turned to leave, and float away to the bright lights and harsh neon rainbows of another city, Katherine pressed the index and middle fingers of her right hand to her lips, kissed them slightly before pressing them to his shoulder.

"This will sound terrible, Damon," Katherine whispered to herself. "But...please don't stop looking for me. One of these days, I'll want to be found."

She left the bar with her hands in her pockets, the tears in her eyes making it too blurry, and too painful, to look at him.


	2. Chapter 2

She stared at the ceiling, her high-heeled Cowboy boots idly dangling on her feet. For a split second, she forgot she was living in an above-average motel, basically trying to hide from a man who loved her with his broken heart undying.

A life on the run wasn't that odd, the Civil War and those idiotic Mystic Falls residents had seen to that, but Katherine couldn't shake the feeling she was doing, or had recently done something wrong. Would it have been so bad to have spoken to him?

Probably.

She worried that he would have snapped and gone into some sort of rampage that would have made the worst of horror movies look like child's play.

Even so, she had no one to blame but herself. She wasn't sure what burned more energy, trying to kill her feelings for him or trying to present her carefully crafted image of a non-caring monstrosity. It took a lot of energy, energy she was slowly discovering she might not have any more.

She kicked her boots off and rubbed her feet. Anything for a distraction, really. Maybe she could organize her hats and boots. That could be a decent, if feeble, distraction. Running [sometimes literally] from her problems was a piss-poor strategy for dealing with her unresolved issues, but what else was there to do?

Spinning her Cowboy hat on her finger, she flipped on the TV to the local news. The lead story was that the string of dead hookers was continuing. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, Damon," Katherine sighed. She understood he needed blood, but, well, surely Nashville was running out of hookers and streetwalkers for him to kill. Knowing him, and she knew him better than he knew himself, he'd move on from hookers to housewives. He always had a little pattern to his violence and outbursts. He had been the same way in Tulsa, Oklahoma in the Fall of 1969. Or Amarillo, Texas in the Spring of 1973. Those occasions had been gory, the body counts high, and she had been there, watching him quietly from the sidelines, never saying a word.

Katherine eased herself back down on the bed, now clad only in her denim shortskirt and a t-shirt. She had looked forward to sleep, but was now worried that the streets would run red with blood by the morning. Immortal or not, this isn't how she had imagined her life. Or, if she was honest with herself, Damon's life.

Try as she may, she couldn't get the image of the heartbroken young man out of her head. She hated what he was and she hated herself for causing it. What's more, she hated the fact she was too much of a fucking coward to go over and even give him a hug. Her grand gesture was to put his Cowboy hat back on his passed out head. Some love of his life she was.

Refraining from using her Vamp strength, she pounded at the bed with her feet, rather like a child. Well, she was a child in a lot of ways, she just hid it very well. Katherine wanted Damon back, then her mind told her she was the reasons he was gone. Cue the cycle of self-loathing.

She turned face down in her pillow and grunted loudly. She was just...frustrated. Many forms of frustrated. Sure, what was left of her heart had broken when she saw Damon at the bar, but another more animalistic part of her had gone into a frenzy.

He was still not that tall, but beyond dark and handsome. Good Lord, she had let a guy like him get away? For being that stupid, she deserved to be alone.

Flipping back over, she cupped her breasts with a short huff. How many years had she spent imagining his hands back on her? Even as a human, he had gone above and beyond to make her happy. She'd never said it, but he was the best she'd ever had. Catch as catch could, he was gifted.

"Damon," Katherine whined/pouted as she squeezed at herself, imaginig his hands on the inside of her thighs. For a split second, she forgot about healing the wounds of his fractured heart, she just wanted him in her bed. Color her life this weird, but this was an almost normal occurence.

But, this wasn't the worst of it. Sure, she missed the sex like no other, but what drove her mad was that, in every sense of the word, he had been a Prince. This wonderful, blue-blooded, gentrified Southern Gentleman and Prince.

Then she rolled with laughter. Her mind played the memory from one night in December of 1864. He had managed to sneak out from his monster of a father and taken her on a midnight horseback ride through the roses in the forest. It had been all smiles with little talking. At one point, with his dark hair and almost matching cravat floating in the breeze, she had asked him if he was totally dedicated to her.

_Katherine, may the Yankees burn my land if I can't deliver to your hand my dedication and its independency._

Never again had a man ever spoken to her like that. Every guy after her had just been complete trash. The male gender as a whole had fallen off something fierce. Beyond her obvious desire for him as arm-candy, she missed the way he thought the world of her and her many flaws. Not many people did. She was willing to bet that underneath his scowl and anger, he was still that well-spoken young man who was nothing if not inherently sweet, innocent and polite.

Freeing her hands from her own body, she managed to get upright and exit her motel room in search of the soda machine down the hallway. She really had a liking for Dr. Pepper. The mahcine ate the coins but dispensed no soda. Katherine didn't like this. A boot through the front solved the problem. She made out with a dozen or so cans before heading back to her room. This would tide her over for a little bit.

She downed one can with half a smile, the whole time wondering what bar Damon would be at tomorrow night. Odds are she'd be there as well.


	3. Chapter 3

[[ A/N: Hey, readers! Thanks for all the love for this fic so far, it really means a lot! If possible, could I maybe get some reviews? Without feedback, I don't know how I'm doing overall or what y'all would like to read. Hehe. But anyways, thanks for being loyal readers. Have some Damon as a reward. Enjoy!

Being a vampire didn't include a magical fix for the taste of vomit in your mouth. Damon had yet to learn this despite a hundred years of experience.

His hands braced on the side of the sink as a torrent of alcohol, bile and other people's blood rushed from his mouth. He just had to wonder why, as a Vampire, he could still get wrecked. It wasn't at all to his liking. Though, he had consumed north of 25 drinks, so his Vamp-ness was the only reason he hadn't fallen to alcohol poisoning. Small victories and simple gifts.

It had been about eight months since he had found his way to The Music City. He had 'borrowed' the stylish apartment of a passably attractive widow who's blood tasted like sour milk. She hadn't lasted five minutes once he had decided she wasn't necessary.

Running water over his face with a sigh, he slid his eyes up, meeting the mirror. He tried to not focus on all those weird little comments he had gotten for the past century plus on how pretty his eyes were, or how nice his hair was or how cute his grin and smile were. It was maddening. He had figured out he was attractive on the outside, but not even that was enough to offset whatever drama was consuming him from the inside.

It was pretty stressful, Damon thought as he brushed his teeth to kill the taste of booze and vomit. He wasn't at all sure why things were supposed to be hard for him. He looked young, he was handsome, had money and all the other quality perks. And yet, anything close to happiness avoided him without fail. There was an irony in there someplace, but he was too sober to figure it out.

His eyes danced back to the mirror. He still looked the same. Literally the same. And that's what sometimes drove him mad. It sounded weird, but maybe he did want a wrinkle or two. That wouldn't be so bad. It would have been, as Damon dryly chuckled, normal.

And that was what he wanted. Normalcy.

He dreamed of actually being 24, not 100something. He'd kill to be 33 or something normal, not stuck in proverbial neutral. Though it sounded almost human, but all the lying was just getting so tiring. As a good looking, Southern guy, wasn't it his goal to find an attractive girl and settle down?

Oh, wait. He had.

That one thought made it feel like the weight of the world feel on him in one motion. Even though he was immune to human problems, it felt like he had migraine. That was the feeling his fractured heart had taken after. Quickly, he tried to turn it all off and stop caring, but that was something he just couldn't do when it came to her.

He stiffened and studied himself in the mirror. Hair length and tan aside, he looked exactly as he had in 1864. Back then, he thought he had been good enough for her, but, well, apparently he wasn't. And that was what he couldn't get over.

He gave her everything; his time, his hand, his love, his virginity. It was 1976 and she still owned every part of him. Sometimes, he spent nights wondering what he had done wrong or what was wrong with him. In the hallways of his memories, he couldn't recall her every saying he wasn't good enough for her, but apparently that was the case.

He ran a hand through his stylishly length, sort of shaggy hair. He again tried to pretend like the occasional change of his hair length and style would get him farther away from the era of ascots, cravats and The Civil War. It never really did. Sure, he had hardened emotionally when it came to such concepts as love, but that was all a very elaborate glass mask.

Exiting the bathroom, he eased himself down on his oddly clean bed. His eyes fluttered closed as he tried to calm his emotions and his senses. It was still pretty hard to handle his heightened senses sometimes. Plus, a city like Nashville smelled kind of weird some of the time. A good chunk of the charming metroplex was fond of bad perfume and cologne, along with chewing tobacco. Some of the bars he drank and fed at could be considered museums of offensive odors.

At last, he finally felt like he could get some sleep. He had a full day of drinking away feelings awaiting him. Who didn't look forward to that? He pulled the sheets up with a grumbling sigh before turning on his side. As he adjusted, his nose took in a whiff of something.

He shot up immediately, trying to find the smell. There was no way, but, well, it smelled like her. His frantic searching led him back into the living room, where his shirt had been depositied on the couch. He gingerly stepped towards it, hand visibly tremblign as he reached forward to pull it close to his nose. He paused before taking in a long sniff.

His sweat, Bourbon...and her. Oh, good God, it smelled like her. Damon nearly crumbled to the floor. If it smelled like her, than that means that she had...touched him. But when? So much of the past 24 hours were a blur, but, how could he miss the love of his life being close enough to touch him? More importantly, did that mean he had finally found her? After 112 years of soul crushing drifting, maybe he had found her.

In a partial daze, he made his way back to his bed. He placed the shirt on the nightstand then laid back down. For the first time since he had died, he fell asleep with her scent next to him.


	4. Chapter 4

The Camaro weaved through the moderate traffic, his still scented shirt in the passenger seat. The whole drive found Damon nervous.

What if she was still in the city? It was a pretty big city, could he find her? Did he want to find her? How ugly would it all be?

Normally, these thoughts would have kept him up the night before, but he was fast asleep, if only because her scent was so immediatly next to him. It was reassuring on levels he hadn't known in over a hundred years. And, well, it had done a lot for him. He wasn't as standoff-ish or jittery. Who knew it was sleep that was keeping him away from a modicum of peace?

As he drove, he tried to think of ways he could find her. The downside of Katherine Pierce is that when she didn't want to be found, you didn't find her. She was mysterious like that.

Not that far from her motel, said mysterious woman was at a diner enjoying breakfast. Well, human breakfast. Her real morning meal had been some overly rude guy who had made several unwanted advances. She had made sure to remove his prying fingers before turning him into a breakfast smoothie. It was her eternal luck, or maybe curse, that led the grossest of guys to hit on her. One day, she'd figure out why, but that was a task for a different time.

She flipped a page in the book she was reading as she waited for her French Toast and scrambled eggs. She had always been partial to horror novels and Robert Bloch's _Psycho_ was no exception. Though, even the finely tuned noir/pulp stylings could distract her from the scent that was suddenly on her. It wasn't cinnamon, syrup and cheese, it was the annoying scent of self-righteousness. It was like a bad perfume. So much so that Katherine scrunched her nose up as she slid the bookmark in and closed her book.

"Hello, Lexi," Katherine sighed, looking up.

"Katerina,"

"It's _Katherine_," She corrected. "Besides killing my appetite, what do you want?"

Lexi rolled her eyes as she sat down. "Still a bitch after all these years, huh?"

"I wear it well," Katherine shrugged. "Unlike you and those jeans. Did you have to get a whole high school football team to help you squeeze into them?"

The other Vamp narrowed her gaze. Maybe disturbing Katherine this early in the morning wasn't a good idea. "Still playing stalker with Damon?"

"Still playing Nun with Stefan?" Katherine asked, genuinely not caring about the answer.

"I get it, Katherine. He's the long-lost boytoy," Lexi said. "But that doesn't mean you can turn him into a Yo-Yo."

"You know nothing," Katherine growled out before she could think. She'd be damned if anyone was going to tell her how she felt about Damon. Boytoy? That was way off. And insutling. "Nothing. So shut up and get out."

Lexi cocked an eyebrow, trying to get a read on Katherine. "Watch the tone, little girl."

"I am older and I am a lot stronger," Katherine said, by now angry but masking it decently well. The she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "What do you want, Lexi?"

"I want you to leave and leave Damon be," The blonde said.

"Watch me not give a damn," Katherine countered, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure there are plenty of Vampries out there who might actually want your advice. You know, the dense ones."

"Always so defensive, Katherine," Lexi shrugged. "It's almost as bad as your obsession with your playthings. Stefan is lucky he got away."

"Got away to what?" Katherine asked. "A life of repressed urges and self-hatred? At least Damon smiles."

"What would you know about that?" Lexi asked. "You just watch from the wings."

This tipped her hand. By saying as much, Katherine quickly figured out that Lexi hadn't been in the bar a night ago for the whole hat on head ceremony. "So what if I do? Is that a problem?"

"Remember Tulsa? Remember Amarillo?" Lexi pointed out. "He's only getting more violent."

"Did you follow me all the way to Nashville, and all the way to this charmingly cliche diner just to tell me that you think he needs to eat bunnies?" Katherine asked.

"No," Lexi said. "But you need to do something. Not just let him wander after you for the rest of time."

"Well," Katherine shrugged. "If it keeps him busy, what's the harm?"

Lexi rolled her eyes and half stormed into the restroom. As soon as the door closed, Katherine was in front of her. She had only gotten faster with age.

"Boo," Katherine smirked, slamming Lexi against the wall like a paper plate. "Okay, that was a very fun little girl bonding time," She said, hand wrapping around the blonde's throat. "Do it again and your organs will wind up nailed to a wall. Do not ever tell me how to feel about him again." Katherine growled fiercely, sitcking a hand into Lexi's chest and snapping a rib or two like toothpicks. The older Vamp yanked her hand out and dropped the other to the floor.

It was a very effective way to communicate without having to talk, Katherine thought as she went for the bathroom door. She turned to smile at Lexi. "Did I do good?" Katherine asked, giving the blonde the middle finger as she left.


	5. Chapter 5

[[ A/N: Hope everyone loves reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it! Thank you all so much for following this fic and please shoot me some reviews if you have the time!]]

There wasn't a whole lot that could get around Katherine. Someone had once called her nosey, but she favored the term 'well-informed'. It was through this that she had discovered Damon had found a trace of her scent and was on the proverbial hunt.

She wasn't really worried, hiding was her express speciality. But too be safe, she wouldn't hang around any of his normal bars, lest things get awkward and entirely unpleasant.

Of course, she would have loved more than anything to simply plop down on a barstoll next to him, smile, and forever be his. Well, she could dream.

She sighed as she relaxed into her bed. It had been a long day. Dan had found some weird Vampire/Bounty Hunter that had come dangerously close to finding her. That hadn't really been to her liking, but she admired Damon for having his cute little nose on trail. So many years later and he was still trying to find her. She made a mental note to eventually tell him that he was the greatest testament quality male traits in all of existence.

Katherine titled her head to gauge the time. 1:45. Last call at the bar Damon was at would be two o'clock. She reasoned that because he now had hope, he wouldn't be passed out. He'd be drinking, yes, but it'd be probably joyous. That made her happy.

She was still having trouble shaking the image of his passed out frame at the bar. Yes, he was still beautiful, but she liked him better sober. Color her picky about what she liked in her man.

That got her sitting up in the bed. She replayed her mental sentence. She, Katherine Piece, had thought of Damon Salvatore, whom she hadn't spoken to in over a hundred years, as 'her man.' She chewed at her lip, sort of like a high school girl trying to decide where to sit at lunch.

Well...it was true. He was her man. And she was his girl.

Huh.

That made things much simpler. And it made her smile. So much of the time she focused on being scary and fierce, but she still had a little bit of a little girl's heart. This was proven by her rolling to her side with a soft smile. A smile entirely too playful and innocent for a woman who had done what she had done. But, oh well.

"Damon Salvatore...my man," She whispered more than a little happily. She must have had this thought thousands of times before, but it didn't carry the same weight as now. They were in the same city, even the same ZIP code. It was a little like good timing. Or, who knew, destiny or fate. Yes, she sort of liked the sound of that. Maybe it was her destiny to run for so many years, to have so many dreams about him, each more vivid than the last. Maybe it was all on purpose. It just had to be.

As she smiled into her pillow, Katherine allowed herself to imagine what his face would be like. Those blue eyes would light up...his grin would hang the moon. He'd probably cry, which she wouldn't regard as weak, but rather as the ultimate testament to his undying love.

She looked back to the clock. 1:50.

God, she wanted to see him happy. More importantly, she wanted to be the one that made him that happy. She owed it to him after all the years of his blind, frantic chase for her. Talk about devoted. Her mouth quirked into a grin. Leave it to the sweet older brother to show her what love actually was.

He had always loved her, even when he discovered her literal darkest secret. Hell, he had been drawn to it, and even more drawn to the idea of spending eternity with her.

1:55.

To Hell with eternity. She had always been bad at waiting.

Katherine picked up the phone and dialed the number speedily, her fingers a literal blur. The gruff voice on the other end asked 'yeah'.

"There's a young man probably sitting by the jukebox. Black hair. Tell him he has a call." Katherine said, far too calm. She heard rustling on the other end of the phone and finally and shuffled click.

"Hello?"

Oh, good God, she had missed that voice. That soft drawl full of playful life, like it danced when it used the right words in the right order. Forget vivid dreams, this wiped them all away in a heartbeat. The wait had been worth it.

"Hello, gorgeous." She said followed by true silence.

"K...Katherine?" Damon stuttered, voice nothing but the suddenly rawest of emotions.

"It's me, Damon," She said, laughing just a little. "Really me."

"Where are you?" He blurted out.

"Nashville," She smiled into the phone, toying with the chord.

"Why are you in Nashville?" Damon slowly asked.

"Easy answer, Honey," Katherine purred. "For you."

"Where are you?"

"Safely tucked away," She replied. "Are you wearing that hat I saw you with?"

"Yeah," Damon found himself laughing.

"Looks good on you," Katherine said, voice true. "I decided I owed you at least one phone call."

"At least," Damon drawled back. "Will there be more?"

"Hopefully more talking, but not over the phone," She replied.

"What do you...you mean?" Damon cutely stammered.

"I'm tired of running, Damon," Katherine breathed into the phone. "I'm ready to be found. I'm ready for you to find me. I'm done running, Damon. Find me."


End file.
